


Crossing the Heavenly River

by iwaihajim



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Edo Period, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, Kuroken day, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Pining, Romance, au where there's no homophobia in edo period japan shut up i just want them to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaihajim/pseuds/iwaihajim
Summary: Kuroo is a hopeless human who falls in love with a yokai. Kenma is a lazy yokai who falls in love with a human. Set in the Edo period of Japan.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	Crossing the Heavenly River

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I did a lot of research for this, but I am not Japanese nor have I ever been to Japan to experience any of this. I tried my best to portray this accurately in the Edo time period, but please take in stride any glaring inaccuracies or inconsistencies about the culture. 
> 
> based on @halfquaint on twt's lovely [fanart](https://twitter.com/halfquaint/status/1247932747277946880?s=20) that inspired me to write this fic. 
> 
> This is not edited because I wanted to publish it in time for Kuroken day (I'm 50 minutes late oops). Sources and vocab used are in the end notes.

It’s getting dark, and Kuroo is scared. In the daylight, the forest had been welcoming – full of birds chirping and deer grazing without a care in the world. In the purple-tinted twilight, Kuroo feels a sense of unease creeping up behind him. It’s so tangible that almost turns around to make sure his fear hasn’t manifested in the child-eating monster his mom is always trying to warn him about.

The tree branches slouch like tired arms in the gloom, enveloping Kuroo in shadows, and a shiver races up his spine. Try as Kuroo might, he can’t seem to orient himself. The trees and boulders, so innocuous in the sunshine, all jump out at him as being some kind of predator whose favorite meal just happens to be lost village boys. _Please don’t eat me,_ Kuroo begs in his head, hoping that some kind of deity is listening, or that the demons hiding in the bushes aren’t fond of stringy eight-year-olds.

A sound, in the darkness. Kuroo startles, a twig scratching his cheek. He can see two golden spots peering at him out of the murk. He freezes, holding his breath – maybe, if he’s quiet and still enough, it would move on.

It does not move on. Instead, a _bakeneko_ – a cat demon – comes prowling out of the gaps in the trees. Kuroo’s heart pounds in his throat, sure that this would be his last day in this world. The _bakeneko_ stopped a few steps in front of him, tilting its head to the side. Kuroo can’t see much with the lack of light filtering through the tree canopies, but he can see that it has light-colored hair, hugely shining eyes with unnerving vertical pupils, and horns curling up from its head.

“Are you lost?” the cat-demon asks. It – he? – was shorter than Kuroo, peering up into his face. “N-no,” Kuroo mumbles, looking away. His mother’s warnings flash once again through his mind, of legends of trickster _yokai_ luring him off the path to eat him. As if it knew what he is thinking about, the cat demon just looks at him with unimpressed eyes. “If you want to keep wandering, you can stay lost,” the _yokai_ tells him, moving to turn away. Without his conscious permission, Kuroo’s arm shoots out and he grabs the demon’s thin, human wrist. “No! I mean, please help me get out of here.” He gives a little bow to show his sincerity. “I am in your care.” _Don’t leave me to die out here!!_ is probably written on Kuroo’s forehead in bold kanji.

The cat-demon sighs, shaking off Kuroo’s grip, but does not object when Kuroo follows him, watching as the strange boy picks his way through the twisted roots like it was nothing. It does not seem to take long at all before Kuroo could spot the twinkling lights of his village. When he turns to thank his companion, the apparition has already melted back into the quiet safety of the woods.

From then on, Kuroo makes every possible excuse to escape into the forest and talk to the _bakeneko._ He learned that his (it was a he, as Kuroo suspected) name was Kenma, and he was Kuroo’s age (in human years, he won’t tell Kuroo how long he’s actually been alive), if about a year younger. Kenma is often lazy and indifferent, but he doesn’t seem to dislike Kuroo. Kuroo, who doesn’t like the rude and bullish village boys, likes hanging out with Kenma. The _yokai_ gives off the appearance of being calm and quiet, but Kuroo learns quickly that Kenma could be much more mischievous than he was given credit for. Kenma can often be found napping in a tree or in a sunny patch somewhere, but he is easily lured out with sweets and treats Kuroo sneaks from home.

“Kenmaaaaa,” Kuroo calls, his long legs carrying him over the shallow creek that denoted the unofficial barrier into Kenma’s territory. The area where Kenma has lived for many, many years is lush and green, blocked by high cliffs on one side and a waterfall on another. Kuroo weaves his way through an especially thick patch of trees before he finally bursts out into a lighter clearing dotted with plants and wildflowers of various types, many being nibbled on by various creatures. Kuroo is careful not to disturb any of them (much – he can’t help it if his heavy footsteps make all the deer bolt) as he makes his way towards the faded path leading to the cabin in which Kenma resides. Kuroo knows that there isn’t much resting in the interior – a simple irori, a sparse futon – but he’s only been inside a handful of times.

Movement in the corner of his eye alerts him to a sleeping figure curled up amongst two thick branches of a proud pine tree. Evidently, Kenma has made a nest for himself. Kuroo debates for a few moments to wake him up, but the inner argument was not necessary, as Kenma is already stirring awake, his eyes blinking open sleepily and rolling to rest on Kuroo’s face.

“Ugh. Go away.”

Well, this is not the warm welcome he’s been expecting from his childhood best friend, even if that best friend was a literal nightmare demon. Kuroo, who is used to this by now, just laughs uproariously, petting Kenma on the head as Kenma gracefully makes his way down to the ground. He has learned to avoid Kenma’s horns, curved and glossy like obsidian, when Kenma nearly scratched Kuroo’s eyes out as children when Kuroo reached out to touch. Kenma’s blond hair is soft and slippery, a direct contrast to Kuroo’s raging bedhead, and feels good under Kuroo’s hand as he plays with the strands. Kenma allows the petting, he claims, for Kuroo’s benefit only (“so you know how actual healthy and normal hair feels, stupid rooster Kuro”), so Kuroo takes as many liberties as he can with his touch-shy best friend. Of course, this does not come without a price, and Kuroo is taxed heavily, as evident of the handful of _amanatto_ Kenma is now picking at while Kuroo plays with his best friend’s hair.

“Kenma, am I your first friend?”

Kuroo asks this out of pure curiosity, but, almost imperceptibly, Kenma’s shoulders tense. Kuroo pauses in his petting. “…Yes,” Kenma responds, after a beat. He probably thinks thick-headed Kuroo doesn’t notice when he’s lying. He’s wrong. Kuroo _always_ notices.

Kuroo is not cruel. He changes the subject. “The _hagi_ are beginning to bloom, so the entire village is preparing for the festival. Would you like to go with me? Not the entire week, of course, um, unless you want to. Unless you don’t, which is totally fine!” _Kenma, please, tell me to shut up already._

This makes Kenma actually look up at Kuroo throughout the rambling to judge his expression. It is silent for a few heartbeats as Kenma tries to decipher Kuroo’s hidden intentions (there are none – Kuroo is always upfront with Kenma). Finally, the _bakeneko_ nods in acquiesce. “Yeah, I’ll go,” Kenma mumbles. _Yes!_ Kuroo cheers in his head.

Kenma, who, as Kuroo learned, can sense emotions, is probably seeing right through Kuroo’s nonchalance (okay, it wasn’t that of an iron wall of defense). The _yokai_ lets slip the tiniest of smiles. Kenma would only admit this on penalty of death, but he is easily caught up in Kuroo’s excitement. Kenma, as all demons, feeds on negative emotions. Sometimes, when he’s around Kuroo, he’s starving.

Kuroo cannot always see Kenma, of course. When they were younger ( _even though Kenma has never told me his actual, real age,_ Kuroo muses), Kuroo found it easy to finish all his chores in the hours right after breakfast, the dawn just barely clinging to the ridges of the distant mountain, before racing to find Kenma in the afternoon, when the lazy cat had finally awoken. Now, as a young adult, Kuroo takes care of his aging (though he would never use that adjective to their faces) parents and a younger sibling (Kuroo’s older sister had wed and moved out already), not to mention, his days are filled with learning how to take over the family business. This means that, despite his very best attempts, finding several spare hours to go to the forest and bother Kenma are becoming rare.

Well, Kuroo wasn’t best friends with a clever demon for nothing. Kenma is often found invading the Kuroo household, lazing about on a chair or couch in whichever room Kuroo finds himself occupied. Chiyo- _Obachan_ , as Kenma calls Kuroo’s mother, permits this because Kenma does not eat their food (with the exception of a nibble at Kuroo’s snack once in a while), likes to sit quietly, and brings her son much happiness. 

“Will you stay the night again, Ken-kun?” Kuroo’s youngest sistr, Kiko, is asking, peering at Kenma over her rice. Kuroo takes this opportunity to whack her (gently) on the knuckles with his chopsticks. “Leave him alone, Kiko,” Kuroo grumbles, trying to avoid his fifteen-year-old sister’s attempts to pull at his hair, her face scrunched up.

“Not my fault _you’re_ all jealous of anyone who even breathes in Kenma’s direction,” Kiko bites back, panting a little. Kuroo had lunged for an unguarded piece of tofu on his sister’s plate, and only her quick reflexes and experience with her devil of a brother allowed her to save it.

“Children, please, stop bickering. At least not at the dinner table, and there is no need to bring Kozume-san into this.” This came from Toketani- _Ojisan_ , Kuroo’s father.

“It’s true! One time, Oikawa Tooru – the son of the pottery-maker, you’d recognize him, he’s pretty and shallow – tried to introduce himself to Ken-kun and Kuroo just about bit his head clean off,” Kiko says, shoveling more rice into her mouth.

“I did not! _Okaasan_!”

Kenma: “You’re nineteen years old, Kuroo. You can’t have your mother referee every single fight you have.”

The occupants of the Kuroo house dissolved into giggles. One of Kenma’s favorite hobbies was putting Kuroo in his place.

It is one of those nights, one distinct moment of a late summer evening during the weeks leading up to the _Hagi_ festival. The days had begun to blur together, a colorful montage of cooking, cleaning, and preparing for the festival, in which the entire village participates and even welcomes visitors, friends, and family from out of town. Kenma, claiming to avoid the “duties” of a _yokai_ (besides snoring very loudly and hogging all the blankets, Kuroo could not imagine Kenma having any obligations), has once again wriggled his way back to the Kuroo family home (there was no need to wriggle – Kuroo Chiyo always made a little extra rice, in case Kenma would come by. If he did not, her son Tetsurou was a bottomless pit). Kuroo and Kenma lay staring up at the stars in the backyard, trying to escape the oppressive heat of the cozy but stifling room Kuroo shares with Kiko. They lay side by side, talking in low voices. Any extra effort in movement or volume would shatter the soft space that had been created, just for the two of them.

“My first friend’s name was Shouyou,” Kenma says, out of the blue. He does not look at Kuroo, but rather straight up at the heavens. Kuroo wonders what Kenma is thinking, but stays quiet for the story.

“He had very bright orange hair, and he was small and loud. I was a young _bakeneko_ still – with all the habits of a cat remaining. Shouyou was a village boy who had taken a liking to me as a cat, slipping me fish and the like, and so I revealed myself to him.” This was a surprise, to Kuroo. It had been years since he had seen Kenma as an actual cat. Occasionally, Kuroo knew, if Kenma felt a very strong emotion, his shadow would become feline, his characteristics more catlike, but never had Kenma lost control or even willingly shown Kuroo his other form. Not for the first time, Kuroo wonders how old Kenma really is, to have such hidden strength and focus.

“Shouyou and I were around the same age, and we got along surprisingly well. He pulled me out of my shell, one that was even thicker than the one I had developed when you and I met, Kuro.” At the mention of his nickname, Kuroo turns his head to the side a little to catch Kenma’s expression, but his best friend’s impassive gaze is fixed to the night sky. “Shouyou always thought I was very clever. I, having never had a friend, was initially wary with him, but I opened up. It took several years, but Shouyou got married. He began to forget about me, but one day he came by my house and told me that his wife was pregnant. He said that he was sorry for neglecting me. I did not want to be lonely, and so I hope, Kuro, that you do not judge me for the actions of my past.”

“Kenma, I would never,” Kuroo reassures the _bakeneko,_ his mind reeling a little.

Kenma continues his story, “I offered for Shouyou to become my master, and I could survive as his companion in my cat form. Shouyou agreed immediately, though I warned him that, often, my kind are seen as bad luck upon a household. He was sure that no bad luck would come because I surrendered myself as an animal companion willingly. We were both wrong.”  
Kenma squeezes his eyelids shut, hard. Kuroo expects to see the glimmer of unshed tears, but, though Kenma’s voice is tight, his eyes are dry.

“I hurt him. I hurt his family. I did not mean to. Shouyou’s grandmother, who had been living with them, suddenly became ill. Shouyou spent much of his money on treatments for her, but she was not getting better, and she soon passed. It was painful for the entire family. One season, a pestilence affected all Shouyou’s animals, but not those of his neighbors. He discovered that his wife was having an affair with another man. Shouyou did not have a cruel or doubtful bone in his body, and I knew he did not blame me, but I blamed myself. Demons do not do well, when dwelling in a human household, we are seen as bad luck, or even a curse or omen. I knew that the life of a caged _bakeneko,_ no matter how good the intentions are, is a poisoned life for anyone who dares to cage us. Do you understand, Tetsurou?”

Kenma rarely calls Kuroo by his first name, but Kuroo doesn’t need to hear the use of it to catch on that Kenma is completely serious.

Kuroo is quiet for a few minutes as he digests this information. “I would never want you to be a pet. You’re my best friend, and an equal.” Kuroo props himself up on one bent arm, hovering over Kenma. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” he says, sincerely, and has the pleasure of watching a rosy flush settle over Kenma’s cheekbones.

Though recounting his painful history had not brought Kenma to tears, this nearly does. “Oh.”

Kuroo huffs a laugh, though it is nowhere near his usual uproarious cackle. “I know his motivations were good, but you don’t need to worry about me, if that was your intention,” (it was, though Kenma, for obvious reasons, does not want to say this), “You’re more valuable to me than anyone, Kenma. I would never want to do anything that would hurt either of us or jeopardize our friendship.”

Kuroo has the good grace as a best friend to pretend like Kenma does not give a sniffle. He drops once again onto his back. “Kenma, do you know all the names of the constellations?”

Kenma does not, so he and Kuroo make up names and stories of different clusters of stars together. No more is said on the topic of Kenma’s story, but Kuroo, before they fall asleep (sharing Kuroo’s futon, as always, with Kenma hogging the blankets), Kuroo whispers, “thank you, Kenma” and brushes his lips over the top of Kenma’s head in a barely-there kiss.

__

The last vestiges of summer melt away as Kuroo scrambles to prepare for the festival. He comes from a family of blacksmiths, one of the few village families that did not make a living off of cultivating the land. Festivals were a huge opportunity for artisans of all types to display their craft, enticing customers from all over. Even the usually unflappable Oikawa Tooru, who works with pottery and ceramics, has been seen visibly stressed, and even dipping below his own high standards of beauty, though no one in town would dare to comment.

Kuroo spends his days hammering at the forge, churning out not only specialty items for the festival, but also ordinary but essential tools and objects so the shop can pick up again smoothly as soon as the celebrations have ceased. He’s just about done for the day when he realizes that he hasn’t seen Kenma in several weeks. Kuroo bites his lip, contemplating. Kenma is not usually the type to get offended over something as petty as Kuroo being busy, but Kuroo can’t help but feel a little bit guilty. The last time that he saw Kenma was when they went to the river under the guise of doing laundry, but really just needing any excuse to cool off and escape the relentless heat.

The visit to the river had been a few days after Kenma had told Kuroo about Kenma’s past, and even Kuroo (Kenma would never say this, but Kuroo knew that Kenma thought he was a bit dense) could feel that their friendship had started to shift. Kenma, all of a sudden, was shyer than usual, and turned red at Kuroo’s usual affectionate touches or teasing nicknames that he had for his best friend, when usually Kuroo would be ignored or ridiculed by Kenma’s surprisingly sharp tongue. An unexpected wind had ruffled the surface of the normally cheerful and bubbling river, whipping the water into cruel currents.

Kuroo, on instinct, wrapped one sturdy arm around Kenma’s waist, bringing him flush against Kuroo’s body to make sure that Kenma, whose head barely reached Kuroo’s clavicle on a good day, was not swept away by the rapids. Kenma immediately had started to squirm and struggle, forcing Kuroo to tighten his grip and bring his other arm around Kenma’s shoulders. When the wind finally died down, Kenma wrenched himself out of Kuroo’s arms, his entire body flushed an attractive pink, even down to where his _fundoshi_ covered the important bits. Without explanation, he scrambled out of the water, grabbed his yukata _,_ and fled. Kuroo tried to give chase, but Kenma had the advantage of being an apparition that can disappear at will.

Kuroo hasn’t seen his best friend since then, and he feels the loss keenly. Not even hanging out with Bokuto, one of Kuroo’s closest friends in the world, can fill the gap that Kenma left in the past several weeks.

Kuroo meant to chase Kenma down the next day, but he had been suddenly overwhelmed with festival duties. Guilt and loneliness settle over Kuroo’s shoulder like a heavy, suffocating blanket. It’s almost dusk, but Kuroo doesn’t want to put off seeing Kenma for a moment longer. He scarfs down a quick meal, makes his excuses to his family (who exchange knowing glances, and if that isn’t the most infuriating thing, Kuroo doesn’t know what is), wraps some sweets in a cloth, and escapes out the door.

The path to Kenma’s seems to take less time than ever; even the hefty pine trees lean out of Kuroo’s way, not wanting to be caught in the glare of his determined expression. The little clearing is silent when Kuroo arrives, and he gives a cursory look in several of Kenma’s favorite hiding spots before he hesitantly breaches the threshold of Kenma’s home.

At first glance, nothing seems out of place, and Kuroo dares to venture further inward, trying to shake off the feeling he has of invading his best friend’s privacy. There’s no fire burning in the sunken hearth, but when Kuroo touches the back of his hand to the kettle, it’s still warm. _Did Kenma leave in a hurry to avoid me?_

Kuroo knows that if his best friend doesn’t want to be, he won’t be found. Not wanting to give up, and with no other choice, Kuroo takes a seat on one of the comfortable tatami mats covering the floor, determined to wait for Kenma and fix whatever Kuroo had done wrong.

__

This is how Kenma finds his best friend, slumped sideways on his floor with a selection of sweets wrapped in his tight grip. He doesn’t stir, not even when Kenma prizes the treats from Kuroo’s grasp and rifles through the bag. As a demon, Kenma doesn’t even need to eat, and stealing Kuroo’s snacks is no fun when Kuroo is passed out, so Kenma relinquishes the treats, setting them gently back on the ground. He curls up on his futon, staring unblinkingly at Kuroo’s prone form. Kenma knows that he messed up this time, but he can’t help it. The things that Kenma feels for Kuroo – it’s nothing like what he felt for Shouyou, and this scares him.

Kenma didn’t mean to run away, but he couldn’t help it. He had been feeling a simmering attraction to Kuroo for years, but kept trying to brush it off, since it was clear that Kuroo didn’t reciprocate those feelings. When he grabbed, Kenma, however, and wrapped his strong, muscular arms around him… _Stop fantasizing about your best friend, Kenma._

He thought their friendship was ruined after Kenma fled ( _like a coward,_ he thinks bitterly), especially from the several weeks of radio silence that occurred right after the “incident.” Kenma huffs a sigh, sitting up to lean his back against the wall, gaze still fixed on where Kuroo is softly snoring on the floor.

Kuroo is an enigma. _Yokai_ like Kenma feed off of negative energy and emotions, but he has never felt negativity stemming from Kuroo – never directed at Kenma, anyway. Kenma would consider himself an expert in categorizing the different negative emotions of humans (anger was his favorite, it was particularly spicy), but Kuroo usually felt one overwhelmingly positive emotion around Kenma. Even as a self-titled connoisseur, Kenma still cannot figure out what that emotion actually _is._ Being around Kuroo, seeing his smile, hearing his disgusting cackle…Kenma’s mouth floods with the taste of warm apples and cinnamon.

Still, Kenma cannot shake the lingering doubts he has about Kuroo. Not about Kuroo himself, but about their friendship. _Bakenekos_ can only bring cursed luck to their owners. A few heartfelt sentiments from Kuroo about how Kenma could never bring him bad fortune was not enough to override years of snowballing myths surrounding mysterious apparitions and demons. What if Kuroo decides to get married and leaves Kenma behind? It’s not like Kenma can force Kuroo into liking him. Eventually, Kuroo would find a nice girl, settle down, have a few children. He would forget about Kenma. It would be the exact same situation as Shouyou.

Kenma wraps his skinny arms around his knees and hunches his back. In his mind, he knows that this is nothing like how it was with Shouyou. He and Shouyou were best friends, but Kenma never _ached_ the way he does for Kuroo. Even imagining being apart from Kuroo, Kenma’s breath hitches in his throat, feeling a spearhead twisting painfully in his chest.

Demons and humans were never meant to interact, to be friends. Kenma reaches up to absentmindedly stroke along the curve of one glossy horn, lost in his own private pit of despair.

“Kenma?”

He’s startled out of his melancholy. “Kuro.”

Kuroo sits up, ruffling a hand through his messy hair, making it stick up even more. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I know you like your space, I just wanted to talk to you, but you weren’t around when I arrived.” Kuroo explains, all in a rush, like he’s expecting Kenma to boot him out coldheartedly.

As if Kenma could.

“It’s alright.”

It’s silent for a moment, Kuroo fidgeting a little. Just as Kenma is about to open his mouth and apologize, Kuroo blurts out, “I’m really sorry, Kenma! Please forgive me!”

Kenma pauses. “Forgive you for what, Kuro?” he asks, hugging his knees tighter into his chest.

“W-Well, for manhandling you,” Kuroo continues, dragging his gaze up to meet Kenma’s. “I know that you don’t really like being touched, and I was pushing it. I just – I thought – forget it.” Red tints Kuroo’s ears. Kenma shakes his head a little, his light hair swishing around his cheekbones. He pushes it behind his ears impatiently, unfolding himself to sit cross-legged on the futon. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Kenma can tell that Kuroo is trying his very hardest to stifle the surprised expression that flits across his face, which Kenma graciously pretends not to notice. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just wanted to keep me safe, and I panicked. I’m sorry.”

Kuroo isn’t pretending to hide his surprise anymore, staring open-mouthed at Kenma instead. Kenma scowls. “Don’t look so shocked! I’ve apologized before,” he grumbles a little, a red blush settling across his cheeks and nose. Kuroo scrambles to stand, his long legs carrying him over to Kenma’s futon. “I didn’t mean it like that, Kenma,” Kuroo says, softly, and kneels so that they’re on the same level, face-to-face. They’re so close that Kenma can see, for the first time, how the setting sun makes Kuroo’s eyes glow like embers in a roaring fire. It’s ridiculously attractive.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t talk for a while.” Kuroo reaches out to take Kenma’s hands in his. Kenma’s heart stutters to a stop for a brief second before starting to beat a vicious tattoo in his chest. Gods, he hopes Kuroo can’t hear it from here. Kenma would die of embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” Kenma says finally, dipping his stare away from Kuroo’s face. If Kuroo keeps looking at him like that, like he hung the goddamn _moon,_ Kenma will not be responsible for the actions that follow. Kuroo allows Kenma’s aversion of his gaze, but his grip on Kenma’s hands tighten like he’s afraid that Kenma might up and disappear again. This stings a bit, but Kenma can’t even be mad when he knows that this fear is warranted.

“Can we still go to the festival together,” Kenma murmurs, more of a statement than an actual question. He feels, rather than sees, Kuroo’s beaming grin. “Kenma! Of course! I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else.”

Kenma tilts his shy stare up at Kuroo. “Not even Bokuto-san?”

“Not even Bokuto,” Kuroo confirms. Kenma smiles.

__

The morning of the first day of the festival dawns bright and early. Kenma awakens cold as a crisp, early autumn breeze wafts through the house. With little insistence, Kenma had agreed to stay over at Kuroo’s the night before, but it still takes him a moment to orient himself to his surroundings. Usually, Kenma is the one to sleep in, but today he wakes up to find that Kuroo is still fast asleep, sprawled on his back with the blanket tangled between his legs. Kenma takes this rare opportunity to study Kuroo, raking his gaze over the face of his best friend. With the early morning light shining on his sun-darkened skin, Kuroo looks almost ethereal – that is, until he grunts something incomprehensible, a leaky bit of drool escaping his mouth.

It’s a testament to how gone on him Kenma is that he finds even this grossness endearing. Kenma wrinkles his nose a little at his own thoughts. The past few weeks alone have given him ample time to ponder, not that he needed more _time_ , of all things, to realize his feelings for Kuroo. A simple attraction to Kuroo, his charm, his athleticism, his energy, had built into feelings much deeper than that. Now, those feelings were a rush of water pushing against a dam, just waiting for an opportunity to flood out and ruin everything. Kenma wants to avoid that at all costs.

Kuroo stirs awake, prizing his eyes open and turns his head to the side where Kenma is curled up, studying him silently. “Kenma? You’re up?” he asks, voice gruff with sleep. Kenma just nods, his eyes falling closed again. Kuroo is having none of this, apparently. “Kenmaa,” he whines, “You just woke up, you can’t go back to sleep already! C’mon, the festival is today!” As if he had forgotten.

Kuroo props himself up on one elbow, and Kenma can feel his stare even with his eyes closed. “You look good in my bed,” Kuroo murmurs to himself. _Gods._ Kenma is going to pretend he didn’t hear anything, but he can feel blood rushing to his face to tinge his cheeks pink.

“You’re a loser, Kuro,” he mumbles without opening his eyes. Kuroo just laughs, having none of this, and finally rolls out of bed to start getting ready.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Kuroo says, rummaging through a cabinet, and pulls out a neatly wrapped package, which he thrusts into Kenma’s hands.

Kenma, looking up at Kuroo apprehensively, gently peels away the paper, and gasps a little.

It’s a kimono. Kenma lifts it up, feeling the silk run through his hands. It’s white, with flowers crawling up the sides, decorated in shades of black and grey, and looks comfortable but still beautiful. Kenma loves it, a tiny smile spreading over his face. He finally lifts his gaze from the clothing to look up at Kuroo, who is shuffling on his feet nervously. “Do you like it?” he asks anxiously, trying to pick apart Kenma’s expression. There’s no need. “It’s beautiful,” he tells Kuroo with unusual candor. “Thank you.” He knows that this must have cost a lot, and guilt seeps in. While Kenma was away sulking, Kuroo went and bought him a thoughtful gift, knowing that Kenma’s only nice kimono is dusty and falling apart from being tucked away for so long.

Kuroo must be able to read this on his face, because he hurries to assure Kenma. “It wasn’t expensive, I got it as a set with this one.” He lifts his own yukata, which is a dark scarlet. When it shifts in the sunlight, Kenma can see similarly patterned flowers woven into the fabric. It’s a gorgeous matching set, and Kenma can feel his face flushing red yet _again._ He ducks behind the _shoji_ , hearing Kuroo chuckle a little behind him.

They had agreed that Kenma should stay behind during the day – _yokai_ and demons are not exactly welcome at festivals – and join Kuroo and his family in the evening, when his horns would not be as obvious. It’s twilight by the time that Kenma makes his way into the center of town, weaving between the crowd even as his heart hammers. He’s never liked crowds, and this is no exception, but he would suffer it all for Kuroo. Kenma pushes these disgustingly sappy thoughts away, marveling at how the lanterns illuminated the _hagi_ in full bloom that twined their way in between buildings, food stalls, and people.

There is laughter, music, and commotion at the very center of the village, and Kenma picks his way through the crowd, trying his best to be invisible. It works too well, because someone bumps into him, sending Kenma flying.

“Oh! Ken-kun!”

Of course it would be Oikawa Tooru. Kenma exhales heavily through his nose, dipping his head in a bow as a greeting. “Have you seen Kuroo?” Kenma asks, biting the bullet. He would suffer getting help from Oikawa if it meant that he could find Kuroo instead of being jostled by the throng of people. “It’s weird seeing you separated from Tetsu,” Oikawa chatters as he leads Kenma closer to the middle. Kenma hums instead of answering, looking up at the lanterns that bathe the usually shoddy village in a golden glow. Oikawa continues to have a one-sided conversation, Kenma occasionally giving a one-word response, before they finally, _finally_ , arrive in the very center of the festival. From where he’s trying to become one with a wall, Kenma can see Kuroo’s obnoxious hair bobbing in between people. A few steps closer, Kenma can hear his uproarious cackle. Oikawa, sensing Kenma’s discomfort, gives him a little shove once they’re close enough, sending poor Kenma practically flying into Kuroo.

Kuroo spins around in time to catch Kenma deftly, leaving Kenma’s stomach filled with annoying butterflies. “Kenma, you made it!” he beams, and Kenma privately thinks that his smile is brighter than the lanterns. _Gross. Stop it._

“Oikawa-san helped me,” Kenma mumbles, and has to repeat it because Kuroo couldn’t hear him over the sound of music and laughter.

“Let’s get some food,” Kuroo says, thankfully tugging Kenma out of the mass that has accumulated in the center. They munch their way through _takoyaki_ , _kaarage,_ and whatever sweets catch Kenma’s eye. Under the flickering lantern light Kuroo is handsome, his cheekbones thrown into high relief and his eyes glittering gold.

“C’mere, I have something to show you,” Kuroo murmurs in Kenma’s ear, and a shiver races up Kenma’s spine at the breath he feels on the side of his face. Kenma latches onto a corner of Kuroo’s kimono sleeve as the taller man weaves them out of the way of everyone until they reach a patch of grass on the hillside. Here, only the barest vestiges of lantern light reach them, so Kenma relies on the full moon for visibility.

“I know you don’t like crowds, so I thought we could watch the fireworks from here,” Kuroo explains, patting a dry patch of grass for them to sit. His thoughtfulness, yet again, makes butterflies writhe in the pit of Kenma’s stomach. He worries his lip between his teeth, not wanting to get grass stains on his brand-new yukata, but Kuroo just reassures him with a smile and a promise that they can wash it in the river.

From here, the sounds coming from the heart of the festivities are muted, but Kenma can still hear faint music and occasionally, an especially loud burst of laughter from the edge of the town. The heavens are cloudless and dotted with thousands of stars, like someone poked holes in the night sky. Kenma leans back and tilts his head up to stare up at the twinkling lights, feeling Kuroo settle in next to him.

Kuroo, as usual, is the first to break the silence. “Have you ever heard the story of Orihime and Hikoboshi, the star-crossed lovers?”

Kenma has, but he wants to hear Kuroo tell the story. “No.”

Kuroo lays back, his hands behind his head with elbows bent, and Kenma follows suit as they both stare up at the sky.

“Princess Orihime was a seamstress who wove the most beautiful clothes in the heavenly river. She worked so hard and so tirelessly in her weaving that she never had time for romance, and she became sad. Her father, the God of the heavens, saw this, and decided to help his daughter find love. He introduces the princess to Hikoboshi, a cow farmer on the other side of the heavens. As soon as they met, they fell deeply and immediately in love, and got married. However, Hikoboshi loved Orihime so much, that he forgot his duties, and Princess Orihime did the same. He let his cows wander the skies, and she did not bother with weaving. They only had eyes for each other.”

Kenma slides his glance at Kuroo, who is staring steadfastly above.

“Orihime’s father finds out about this, and he is furious. He forbids the two from seeing each other again. Of course, this makes them both extremely depressed, so the God of the heavens allows them one day a year to reunite. The day arrives, but the two lovers find that the heavenly river is too deep and too difficult to cross, so a flock of magpies, seeing Princess Orihime so sad, help build a bridge for her to cross the river and see her husband. On that one night a year, we wish for clear skies so the two can meet again.” Kuroo points upwards to two bright shining stars. “They are more visible in the summertime, but they haven’t moved on yet,” he says, and Kenma traces his finger up to see the two heavenly lovers.

A hush falls over the two as Kuroo finishes his story.

“I can’t imagine being separated from the one you love for the rest of your life, except for that one day a year,” Kenma says finally. He stares upwards, not looking at Kuroo.

“I couldn’t even be separated from you for a few weeks, Kenma,” Kuroo laughs. Kenma’s heart seizes a little. “We’re best friends, not lovers, Kuro,” he reminds the storyteller. A pause, as both of them look up at the celestial bodies above.

“Kenma…” Kuroo begins, trailing off a little. Kenma swallows heavily. “Yes?” he asks, feeling like his tongue is too big for his mouth.

“Kenma,” Kuroo tries again, “have you ever loved someone? Like, in the way Orihime and Hikoboshi love each other?”

 _Gods._ Kenma feels like he might implode. “…Yes,” he says, several heartbeats later.

“Will you tell me about them?”

Not being able to see Kuroo’s face makes him brave.

“They’re…very smart, even if it’s not always obvious. They like to come off as this strong and uncaring person, but they really do care a lot about their friends and family. They’re loyal to a fault, and always know when something is bothering me,” Kenma begins slowly, but the words, now unstoppable, begin to fall faster and faster out of his mouth. “He’s so handsome, but he’s not cocky about it at all; he doesn’t even notice when all the village girls stare at him and swoon. He’s capable, too, but he’s clever and mischievous when he wants to be. He makes me feel valued.”

“He?”

_Oh shit oh fuck oh my gods abort mission abort abort Kenma you fucked up get up and RUN AWAY NOW RUN NOW NOW NOW HE KNOWS CODE RED CODE BLUE IT’S TIME TO FLEE AND START A NEW LIFE –_

_“_ Can I tell you about who I’m in love with?”

Kenma takes a slow, deep breath to calm himself, willing his racing heart to resume a normal pace. All he can manage is a somewhat strangled sound of agreement.

“He’s beautiful,” Kuroo says. _HE?????_ “I always thought that, maybe I would never find love, until I realized how happy he makes me. He pretends to be all apathetic, but I know that he really cares a lot. He overthinks too, and analyzes everything, because he’s smart and observant. Most of all, he’s really just gorgeous, even if he puts up a front.”

There is a roaring noise in Kenma’s ears.

“He sounds…nice,” Kenma tries hesitantly, waging a war with his mind to beat his deepest hopes and dreams back with a stick. It’s not working very well.

Kuroo looks over at Kenma. “He is,” Kuroo says, and their eyes meet.

Before Kenma’s brain can realize the risk of what he’s doing, his body is moving on autopilot. He grabs the front of Kuroo’s stupid beautiful kimono to yank him into a kiss. Frankly, it’s gross and a little bit awkward, but it’s _Kuroo,_ Kuroo who bought him a new outfit, Kuroo who brings him sweets, Kuroo who tells him stories about the stars, _Kuroo who loves him back._

They finally break away, panting. Kuroo has sat up, and Kenma seems to have migrated onto him lap. “Um,” Kuroo says, eloquent as usual.

Kenma, who feeds off negative emotions, is finally learning why Kuroo has never been able to satisfy his hunger as a _yokai._

“Shut up and kiss me, Kuro.”

He does.

**Author's Note:**

> yokai: in Japanese mythology, a demon or apparition that often hides/takes the form of an ordinary object, person, or animal  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Y%C5%8Dkai#Edo_period
> 
> bakeneko: described as a yokai that takes the shape of a cat. If a cat lives long enough, or grows big enough, it might turn into a bakeneko, according to Japanese legend  
> https://mythology.wikia.org/wiki/Bakeneko
> 
> hagi: bush clover, a type of flower that blooms in early fall.  
> https://www.nippon.com/en/guide-to-japan/b08103/hagi-blooms-bring-a-hint-of-autumn.html
> 
> amanatto: candy made out of beans boiled in sugar water, dried, and then topped with sugar  
> https://www.japan-talk.com/jt/new/amanatto
> 
> Obasan: honorific often used to address a friend’s mother
> 
> Ojisan: honorific often used to address a friend’s father
> 
> Fundoshi: period-typical undergarments worn by men, similar to a loincloth
> 
> Shoji: paneled room divider 
> 
> Other sources: 
> 
> http://www.japan-suite.com/blog/2014/7/6/tanabata-story-of-two-star-crossed-lovers
> 
> https://www.ancient.eu/article/1424/daily-life-in-medieval-japan/
> 
> http://factsanddetails.com/japan/cat16/sub107/item502.html#chapter-3
> 
> https://www.japan-talk.com/jt/new/japanese-festival-foods
> 
> https://fujita-kanko.com/topic/fireworks-summer-tradition-japan-since-edo-era/


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